Driving Home
We’ll spend the better part of 13 hours on the road today as we head across the barren wasteland of Kansas with the mountains to our backs and nothing but sunflowers through the windshield. Colorado and family vacation fade into the distance behind us, where they will wait, seemingly motionless, until we return there again. This year is significant for me because it marks perhaps the last family vacation that I will be a part of for quite a while. Next summer looks busy and uncertain…filled with a trip to China with the choir, a tentative medical missions trip, and quite possibly some remaining visits to PA schools for interviews. After that, my summers will be taken up by PA school, which uses trimesters and thus eats the summer with impressive efficiency.
There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll be back to Colorado sometime…back to visit the old haunts and explore new rocks and caves and trees and burned out cabins. But my mind’s eye puts me there at least a few years down the road, in a 25 year old body which is in need of a sojourn from the chaos of medical life and returning to its roots after too long an absence. A fun image for my brain to toy with until something in the back of my mind introduces options like “husband” and “no grandparents” into the picture. No way to know what the scene will really look like, but there’s no denying that it may be quite different by then.
We spent 6 days at the James cabin (mom’s folks), two of which were quite cramped due to the addition of my Aunt (mom’s sis), Uncle, and 3 young cousins. Cameron (8), Connor (5), and Creighton (3) are as different as night and day: the sensitive spirit, the mountain man, and the class clown, respectively. Funny how much you can predict the family dynamics of their lives already. The age difference between us and them is somewhat unfortunate, especially since we hardly ever get to see them…but we each unspeakingly adopted one of the little dudes and spent the bulk of time helping them with whatever little projects happened to catch their eyes. Connor and I hit the fishing ponds early one afternoon…I expected his attention to last a full 30 minutes, but I was pleasantly surprised. After a few bites and foiled attempts, he declared “I’m gonna catch that fish…I don’t quit…” Well, ok then…I can work with this kid! J We fished for a good 2 and a half hours before that confirming jerk and splash finally lit his face. It took twice as long as it should have for his half sized pole to beach the 8 inch monster, but he did it. I have never seen such elation. It was barely long enough to keep, but nothing could have persuaded the youngster to place his catch back in the lake. He named it, carried it up to show to the parents, watched grandma clean it (and wasn’t grossed out, even when cutting off the head…again, I love this kid), and then cooked it over the fire, talking nonstop about “how happy he was that he caught a fish.” Precious, beautiful, hilarious. Watching a boy begin to pursue “being a man”…watching a cousin learn patience and reap the benefits, being a part of a memory which will long remain.
The boys and their folks spent the nights in another smaller cabin, but all meals and daytime experiences were shared in the essentially one room cabin and one bathroom. Thus, it was not too much of a traumatic experience for anyone when we left after 2 days, bringing the cabin population back to a healthy 7 people.
The remaining part of our vacation was a bit of a new experience. A distant cousin of my Dad’s has been working on a bed and breakfast in St. Elmo (another small mining community in the mountains) for the better part of 6 years. She and her husband have battled treacherous winters, Colorado’s picky zoning laws, the town’s reluctance to see a new “business” established, and are now just weeks away from a grand opening of “The Ghost Town Guest House”. There are a few doorknobs still to be installed, and some half completed painting jobs, but for the most part the building is as immaculate as it is artistic and inspiring. The 3 story building is essentially a refrigerator box shape with some large windows and a mixture of wooden and corrugated steel (rusted out for a good replication of a rustic storefront) siding. The exterior is artistically littered with old boots, rope, a steam engine, railroad tracks, farming tools, and old license plates. If I didn’t know any better I’d say the thing has been there for 60 years…they have done a painfully thorough job of returning everything to a deteriorated state. The inside is beautiful…all old looking wood, antique furniture, overstuffed couches, old photos of the town, huge windows, large area rugs, claw footed tubs, and wooden armoires. As they took us on a tour we were amazed to hear the stories of the décor. Some came out of dumpsters, some out of attics, others from flea markets and hole-in-the-wall resale shops. Much of the wood trim came from old high school bleachers, the porch railings were constructed from electrical posts, the slate kitchen counters were crafted from old schoolhouse blackboards.
The couple themselves compliments this homey and artistic atmosphere with incredible accuracy. She is the ultimate host…prepared, talented, and relaxed. She loves to talk, she loves to cook, she delights in preparing things to perfection. He is an intellectual, a story teller, and a fabulous hiking guide. Whether we were sitting in the tall, airy dining room around the cook stove or up in the sitting room looking at family photo albums or out on the trails looking down over the streams and mountains they were always looking to help, to entertain, and to delight in life. Such a breath of fresh air for me to see these people (who by the way have had quite difficult lives) and the way that their giving rejuvenates and excites them. I want to be like that. I want to find the thing which helps people so much that I can’t help but throw myself into it.
My dad’s parents and sister met us there, along with our cousin, Bryan (16). We enjoyed two days of great food, card games, mountain hikes, picnic lunches, and family catch up. We were spoiled immensely by the scenery (see facebook for the pictures) which included a waterfall, some beautiful streams, and craggy rocks. We were far enough away from most all of civilization that we could explore at will. The kids spent a whole afternoon hiking straight through water, forest, and wilderness…somehow able to imagine that we were the first to pioneer its rugged and surprisingly tranquil beauty. We climbed rocks, used trunks as bridges, discovered old mine shafts, skipped rocks, tried to identify animal prints, and reveled in the splendor of untouched creation. I’ve been blessed to see a fair amount of the world for someone my age and I’m convinced that these mountains are some of the most magnificent sites in the world, even next to castles and cathedrals.
My grandma brought several of her family scrapbooks along with her. She is constantly working on one of them…some are of very recent experiences, others date back to the early 1900’s and map out the family tree. One of these found its way to my lap last night and I perused it slowly, looking at great great grandparents with a curiosity that’s hard to explain, as if looking harder would bring them off the page and make them introduce themselves. Got a better feel for my ancestry and then moved gradually into the familiar faces…my grandmother and her twin, their engagements (within one day of each other) and weddings, their collective 10 children. Had fun looking at pictures of my Dad crying in a snowsuit and smiling in little overalls. I compared the features of my grandpa, uncle, and father with interest, trying to draw out which of the visual genes had made it to their children, including myself.
I’m more and more aware that these people, who speak into my life with infrequent but profound volumes, will not always be here. Due to the distance between us I’ll never know as much about them as I’d like to, but I’m realizing how important it is to try to connect, to learn, and to give back. Family can so easily be taken for granted as “the ones who come for Christmas and send a check at my birthday”…but there is so much more there…lives that I have common ground and genes and relationships with. Better not let those slide by. And then, I realize that some of those same types of people currently ride next to me in the car. People whom I assume that I am close to but sometimes don’t really take the time to know. Such is the blessing of family vacation. A chance to relax, explore, and really talk with these people who are such a direct foundation for my life whether I take the time to acknowledge it or not.
Tomorrow night we’ll be home, preparing to jump back into work, research, painting, and moving…looking forward to school which is approaching with ominous speed. But for now, I’m still on vacation and contemplating the experience with delight. Thanks Lord for the time, the people, and the place.
We’ll spend the better part of 13 hours on the road today as we head across the barren wasteland of Kansas with the mountains to our backs and nothing but sunflowers through the windshield. Colorado and family vacation fade into the distance behind us, where they will wait, seemingly motionless, until we return there again. This year is significant for me because it marks perhaps the last family vacation that I will be a part of for quite a while. Next summer looks busy and uncertain…filled with a trip to China with the choir, a tentative medical missions trip, and quite possibly some remaining visits to PA schools for interviews. After that, my summers will be taken up by PA school, which uses trimesters and thus eats the summer with impressive efficiency.
There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll be back to Colorado sometime…back to visit the old haunts and explore new rocks and caves and trees and burned out cabins. But my mind’s eye puts me there at least a few years down the road, in a 25 year old body which is in need of a sojourn from the chaos of medical life and returning to its roots after too long an absence. A fun image for my brain to toy with until something in the back of my mind introduces options like “husband” and “no grandparents” into the picture. No way to know what the scene will really look like, but there’s no denying that it may be quite different by then.
We spent 6 days at the James cabin (mom’s folks), two of which were quite cramped due to the addition of my Aunt (mom’s sis), Uncle, and 3 young cousins. Cameron (8), Connor (5), and Creighton (3) are as different as night and day: the sensitive spirit, the mountain man, and the class clown, respectively. Funny how much you can predict the family dynamics of their lives already. The age difference between us and them is somewhat unfortunate, especially since we hardly ever get to see them…but we each unspeakingly adopted one of the little dudes and spent the bulk of time helping them with whatever little projects happened to catch their eyes. Connor and I hit the fishing ponds early one afternoon…I expected his attention to last a full 30 minutes, but I was pleasantly surprised. After a few bites and foiled attempts, he declared “I’m gonna catch that fish…I don’t quit…” Well, ok then…I can work with this kid! J We fished for a good 2 and a half hours before that confirming jerk and splash finally lit his face. It took twice as long as it should have for his half sized pole to beach the 8 inch monster, but he did it. I have never seen such elation. It was barely long enough to keep, but nothing could have persuaded the youngster to place his catch back in the lake. He named it, carried it up to show to the parents, watched grandma clean it (and wasn’t grossed out, even when cutting off the head…again, I love this kid), and then cooked it over the fire, talking nonstop about “how happy he was that he caught a fish.” Precious, beautiful, hilarious. Watching a boy begin to pursue “being a man”…watching a cousin learn patience and reap the benefits, being a part of a memory which will long remain.
The boys and their folks spent the nights in another smaller cabin, but all meals and daytime experiences were shared in the essentially one room cabin and one bathroom. Thus, it was not too much of a traumatic experience for anyone when we left after 2 days, bringing the cabin population back to a healthy 7 people.
The remaining part of our vacation was a bit of a new experience. A distant cousin of my Dad’s has been working on a bed and breakfast in St. Elmo (another small mining community in the mountains) for the better part of 6 years. She and her husband have battled treacherous winters, Colorado’s picky zoning laws, the town’s reluctance to see a new “business” established, and are now just weeks away from a grand opening of “The Ghost Town Guest House”. There are a few doorknobs still to be installed, and some half completed painting jobs, but for the most part the building is as immaculate as it is artistic and inspiring. The 3 story building is essentially a refrigerator box shape with some large windows and a mixture of wooden and corrugated steel (rusted out for a good replication of a rustic storefront) siding. The exterior is artistically littered with old boots, rope, a steam engine, railroad tracks, farming tools, and old license plates. If I didn’t know any better I’d say the thing has been there for 60 years…they have done a painfully thorough job of returning everything to a deteriorated state. The inside is beautiful…all old looking wood, antique furniture, overstuffed couches, old photos of the town, huge windows, large area rugs, claw footed tubs, and wooden armoires. As they took us on a tour we were amazed to hear the stories of the décor. Some came out of dumpsters, some out of attics, others from flea markets and hole-in-the-wall resale shops. Much of the wood trim came from old high school bleachers, the porch railings were constructed from electrical posts, the slate kitchen counters were crafted from old schoolhouse blackboards.
The couple themselves compliments this homey and artistic atmosphere with incredible accuracy. She is the ultimate host…prepared, talented, and relaxed. She loves to talk, she loves to cook, she delights in preparing things to perfection. He is an intellectual, a story teller, and a fabulous hiking guide. Whether we were sitting in the tall, airy dining room around the cook stove or up in the sitting room looking at family photo albums or out on the trails looking down over the streams and mountains they were always looking to help, to entertain, and to delight in life. Such a breath of fresh air for me to see these people (who by the way have had quite difficult lives) and the way that their giving rejuvenates and excites them. I want to be like that. I want to find the thing which helps people so much that I can’t help but throw myself into it.
My dad’s parents and sister met us there, along with our cousin, Bryan (16). We enjoyed two days of great food, card games, mountain hikes, picnic lunches, and family catch up. We were spoiled immensely by the scenery (see facebook for the pictures) which included a waterfall, some beautiful streams, and craggy rocks. We were far enough away from most all of civilization that we could explore at will. The kids spent a whole afternoon hiking straight through water, forest, and wilderness…somehow able to imagine that we were the first to pioneer its rugged and surprisingly tranquil beauty. We climbed rocks, used trunks as bridges, discovered old mine shafts, skipped rocks, tried to identify animal prints, and reveled in the splendor of untouched creation. I’ve been blessed to see a fair amount of the world for someone my age and I’m convinced that these mountains are some of the most magnificent sites in the world, even next to castles and cathedrals.
My grandma brought several of her family scrapbooks along with her. She is constantly working on one of them…some are of very recent experiences, others date back to the early 1900’s and map out the family tree. One of these found its way to my lap last night and I perused it slowly, looking at great great grandparents with a curiosity that’s hard to explain, as if looking harder would bring them off the page and make them introduce themselves. Got a better feel for my ancestry and then moved gradually into the familiar faces…my grandmother and her twin, their engagements (within one day of each other) and weddings, their collective 10 children. Had fun looking at pictures of my Dad crying in a snowsuit and smiling in little overalls. I compared the features of my grandpa, uncle, and father with interest, trying to draw out which of the visual genes had made it to their children, including myself.
I’m more and more aware that these people, who speak into my life with infrequent but profound volumes, will not always be here. Due to the distance between us I’ll never know as much about them as I’d like to, but I’m realizing how important it is to try to connect, to learn, and to give back. Family can so easily be taken for granted as “the ones who come for Christmas and send a check at my birthday”…but there is so much more there…lives that I have common ground and genes and relationships with. Better not let those slide by. And then, I realize that some of those same types of people currently ride next to me in the car. People whom I assume that I am close to but sometimes don’t really take the time to know. Such is the blessing of family vacation. A chance to relax, explore, and really talk with these people who are such a direct foundation for my life whether I take the time to acknowledge it or not.
Tomorrow night we’ll be home, preparing to jump back into work, research, painting, and moving…looking forward to school which is approaching with ominous speed. But for now, I’m still on vacation and contemplating the experience with delight. Thanks Lord for the time, the people, and the place.
